


She is His

by commander_cullywully



Series: Cullen x Gwyn DA-Verse [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Romance, Snuggling, so much fluff this could be cotton candy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commander_cullywully/pseuds/commander_cullywully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shakes his head, but does not meet her gaze. He worries he’s not worthy. That she deserves more—someone who will remember her in their old age, someone who doesn’t wake in the middle of the night sometimes drenched in a cold sweat and unaware of who she is or where he’s at. She deserves someone whose hand does not shake in the presence of lyrium, someone who does not falter.</p><p> She pulls herself on top of him, firmly taking his chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing him to look into her blue eyes.<br/>"I would choose you over everyone. Every time.” Her voice doesn’t falter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She is His

Some days, her eyes are soft when she looks at him, and sometimes, the tattoo near her right eye crinkles if she smiles wide enough. He likes the way she reaches for his arm to balance herself when she laughs hard enough, and how her body shakes with every giggle—especially if he’s the cause. He loves the way she leans into him when she makes excuses to have him double-check her reports, or, if he’s feeling daring enough, the way her breath catches when he whispers in her ear. Sometimes when she places her hand on his, the pad of her thumb runs over each of his knuckles. It feels like a feather and he can’t decide if she even realizes it when it happens.

The days she knows he’s struggling, she asks him if there’s any way she can help—whether it’s helping him fill out reports or handling a meeting he never wanted to go to in the first place. Sometimes, she doesn’t ask at all. She crushes small amounts of dawn lotus and elfroot, mixing it into drinks to help ease pain. It only helps a little, but he appreciates the gesture. Other times, she sits on his lap, taking his hands and massaging his knuckles. This usually ends with her leading him onto the couch in her- _their_ \- quarters, a mischievous grin on her face as she nestles his head in her lap.

“Close your eyes.”

“This is hardly necessary,” he argues. But he listens anyway. She massages his temple, her fingers working gently until all he can focus on is the way she hums softly or the way her head cocks to the side above him as she works.

“Better?” She asks sympathetically. She presses a kiss to the side of his forehead, then her lips ghost across his own.

“Much,” he smiles.

Some evenings, when he’s busy with reports in his office, she brings him dinner and sits in a nearby chair—her legs pulled onto the cushion as she grabs a book from one of his shelves.

“That one’s my favorite. There’s this knight that saves the prince and it turns out the knight is a woman. But—” Cullen murmurs, a small smile twitching at his lips. She almost doesn’t want to interrupt him, but he catches himself and blushes.

“Don’t spoil it for me when I’ve just begun,” she grins, a giggle leaving her lips that Cullen wants to hear more of. “You should eat something or I’ll relieve you of the extra bannoch on your plate,” she warns, returning to the book. He does as he’s told, but he watches her over the bowl of his broth as she flips through the pages and his heart skips when she meets his gaze.

Sometimes she falls asleep there, early in the evening with the book still in her lap. When this happens, he wrestles with the notion of carrying her all the way back to her quarters only to bring his blankets and sheets down from his own. She sleeps in front of his desk, arms reaching out to the empty space where he belongs. There are times where his men enter his office only for Cullen to usher them out. He knows they’ll inevitably be a topic of discussion around Skyhold later, but when she stirs long enough to whisper his name…he doesn’t care.

The days that she leaves Skyhold, Cullen wraps his arms around her a little longer than usual and presses kisses anywhere he can reach—which is everywhere, if he has his way. Sometimes he wakes with low groan of pleasure as she brushes kisses across his flesh.

“G’morning,” he sometimes whispers just before his teeth nibble playfully at her lower abdomen. These are the days where he returns the favor, his tongue skirting across her most sensitive areas until his name is a wave washing over her. She fists the sheets in her hands, chewing hard on her lower lip in attempt to quiet herself, but he finds himself smirking at the idea that  _he_ is capable of reducing the Herald of Andraste to shudders and moans. These are usually the mornings some poor sap comes to their door, each knock more urgent than the last until Cullen growls through gritted teeth: “What is it!?”

But, when she does take her leave, he walks with her to the courtyard. He holds her hand the whole way, squeezing her fingers a little too tightly until he claims her mouth with his. His fingers buried in the loose strands of her hair, he tries to prolong the moment as much as possible….and she gives in every time.

“I hate to break up the lovely couple, but are we leaving any time soon?” Dorian usually pipes up, winking in her direction until they pull away just enough.

“Shut it,” she warns Dorian. She presses a chaste kiss to Cullen’s scar, then another to his cheek. “I love you,” she tells him, her nose brushing against his.

“And I love you,” he whispers, his fingers lightly caressing her cheeks. He helps her onto her horse, even though she doesn’t need it. “Be careful,” he tells her each time, despite the fact he knows she’s skilled enough to hold her own.

“I always am,” she grins, bending down to press another kiss to his blond locks.

When she comes back at night, she slips next to him in bed and he instinctively wraps his arms around her.

“I love you,” he mumbles sleepily. He presses lazy kisses to her bare shoulders and caresses her back, contemplating a time when he might be able to kiss her and stop himself from wanting more. Perhaps, one night, she will crawl into bed and his hands will resist the urge travel over every curve of her. Perhaps he’ll resist the longing to hear her moan his name as she unravels beneath him in the late hours of the night. But her body warms against his like a fire and he’s missed her far too much.

When she hasn’t seen him for weeks at a time, she nuzzles against his beard that’s grown since she last saw him. She kisses him, feeling it scratch against her cheeks, and she fills the room with delicious laughter Cullen can’t seem to get enough of. Eventually she brings lather and a straight razor to the bed, straddling him as she works in silence. She purses her lips, manipulating his head gently as she works. His hands rest on her waist, his fingers lightly connecting freckle to freckle until concentration is wiped from her face.

“There you are,” she grins, trailing kisses down his smooth jawline. His hands pull her underneath him and his eyes scan over her—every freckle, every dimple, every scar that’s still healing—and he knows that life could easily be very different than it is now, but he thanks the Maker she’s  _real,_  and she’s  _good,_  and she’s  _his_.  Blue eyes study him, trying to read his expression as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is soft, like she doesn’t want to interrupt whatever thoughts are running wild in his head. Her fingers trace over a scar on his shoulder, but then stop to caress his cheeks. He smiles against her palm, kissing it lightly. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is, how grateful he is to have her in his life. It’s nothing he hasn’t told her before. “What’s wrong?” She asks, her face creasing with worry. He kisses the corner of her mouth, but she moves her head just enough to catch his lips.

“Our lives could have been very different from this,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against hers. He lies down next to her and she wraps her arms around him. “You could have married some mysterious, masked Marquis or been promised to some poor old man who has no idea what he’s dealing with.” She laughs when he’s finished talking, a howl that has her clutching at her sides. Maker, that laugh would be the death of him.

"You can’t be serious!” She curls into the crux of his arm, swatting at him playfully. He’s quiet and the silence that settles between them says it all. She rests her head on his chest, listening to the sounds of his heart as her fingers run up and down his side.

“You could have your pick of any one in Thedas.” He says it softly, his hands running through her hair. She looks up at him, a small smile plays on her lips.

"Cullen Rutherford, are you jealous?” He shakes his head, but does not meet her gaze. He worries he’s not worthy. That she deserves more—someone who will remember her in their old age, someone who doesn’t wake in the middle of the night sometimes drenched in a cold sweat and unaware of who she is or where he’s at. She deserves someone whose hand does not shake in the presence of lyrium, someone who does not falter.

 She pulls herself on top of him, firmly taking his chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing him to look into her blue eyes.

 "I would choose you over everyone. Every time.” Her voice doesn’t falter. It’s the most sure he’s ever heard her and it leaves him breathless. She smooths his hair, then presses a chaste kiss over his scar. His face breaks into a large grin as her fingers link with his and he thinks how, now more than ever, her small fingers belong there.

“I love you,” he says, squeezing her hand as her face breaks open into pure joy. She kisses him and he pulls her closer, the warmth of her body lighting that all too familiar spark.

 _She is real_.

He rolls on top of her, pulling away from her lips only to press kisses below her ear.

_She is good._

“Say it again,” she breathes, slightly rolling her hips against him as he trails kisses across her collarbone. He looks up at her, a wicked grin spreading over his face.

_She is his._

**Author's Note:**

> i actually wrote this awhile back & it's probably one of my favorite things i've ever written. I'm just terrible about uploading things on here.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr.](http://www.greythewardens.tumblr.com)


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